


Hive Mind

by cedarwoods, Lizburns



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Black Mirror, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, set in season 4, shootweek19
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarwoods/pseuds/cedarwoods, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizburns/pseuds/Lizburns
Summary: Based on the Black Mirror episode, "Hated in the Nation."





	1. Chapter 1

**MAY 15, 2014**

**DAY 1**

It took Shaw a few tries to jimmy open the lock to “Sameen Grey’s” apartment, but the instant the door opened, she kicked off her combat boots, made a beeline for the couch, and flopped onto it, nearly snogging the pillows in relief.

Belatedly, she remembered the Beatrice Lillie tucked in her peacoat and flopped back onto her back to retrieve it. Satisfied that it was still intact, she tore off the wrapping and took a large bite out of it, searching for the remote as she moaned appreciatively. Her hand knocked against a bottle of lube and a spare gun before she finally found what she was looking for. The TV flickered to life.

_“Senate Majority Leader Rich O’Connell continues to support his decision to block House Democrats’ legislation expanding disability benefits, as outrage over the death of activist Leah Rielly mounts. Crowdfunding has raised $50,000 for her family to cover funeral costs. Meanwhile, a petition on Change.org has over 30,000 signatures demanding the firing of journalist Joanna Votsis, who wrote a controversial–”_

“It was fucking disgusting,” Shaw muttered.

_“– piece on Rielly. And the honeybee-mimicking drones known as ADIs – autonomous drone insects – have been activated for their first summer in an effort to mitigate the effects of honeybees’ impending extinction on the environment.”_

Bear trotted over to her and butted his head playfully against her dangling hand. Obliging, she began to pet him affectionately. “Good to see you too, buddy. You won’t believe the kinds of people I had to put up with today.”

Just then, Shaw’s phone began to ring. “Speaking of people…” she muttered.

“Shaw you gotta get here quick,” Fusco panted. “Captain America and I lost the number. Journalist chick’s dead.”

“Fuck,” Shaw hissed. “The hell happened?”

“No fuckin’ idea. Whole force’ll probably be here soon though.”

“Text me the address. I’m on my way.”

Shaw stuffed the last of her sandwich into her mouth as she flew out the door, Bear looking on mournfully.

*

Shaw managed to parallel-park between two out of the dozen or so police cars stationed haphazardly along the street. Flashing blue and red lights illuminated Jo Votsis’ house, which itself was cordoned off with crime scene tape. Uniformed officers milled about. Brandishing her badge Shaw ducked under the tape and strode into the house.

“Hey Fusc—”

“Sameen. Lionel. So nice to see you both again,” a cool voice interrupted. “Not the most pleasant of circumstances though, I must admit.”

Shaw whirled around. Root leaned against the doorway, a mischievous smile on her face.

“What’s Fruit Loops doin’ here?” Fusco asked gruffly.

“That’s Ada Fleming, NYPD, to you Lionel,” Root said, proudly flashing a newly minted badge.

“Great,” Shaw deadpanned.

“I’m excited for our new… _partnership_ too Sameen,” Root breathed into the conch of Shaw’s ear. It was to Shaw’s credit that she didn’t shudder. Fusco, meanwhile, shook his head and turned away. Root smiled again and snapped on her gloves, clearly enjoying the way Shaw’s jaw muscle tensed as she did so. Her amusement suddenly disappeared, however, replaced by a grim sense of purpose.

Root’s eyes roved from the blood spatters on the wall, to the papers and shattered glass strewn on the floor, to the deep gashes across Jo’s throat and head. The carpet was stained red from both wine and blood.

It was a rather gruesome crime scene, but even so, Shaw had dealt with plenty since she’d been assigned this cover identity. Why _had_ the Machine paired Root with her, when she was usually off dealing with relevant numbers?

Shaw dismissed her musings for the moment. “Lionel, walk us through what happened before we got here.”

“Wonder Boy and I are staked out across the street for an hour, right? Lady comes home, gets a delivery from Château Dough.”

Root wandered over to where said cake lay in its box on the table. Emblazoned on the chocolate frosting, nestled between flowers, was a crude message. “Sameen, the cake says ‘Fucking bitch.’”

“Ha. Not exactly sent from a well-wisher. We’ll bag it for toxicology,” Shaw said.

“Nothin’ weird happens ‘til 6 on the dot,” Fusco continued. “We hear her screamin’ ‘cause her window’s open a crack.”

Just a sliver, really, Shaw noted. The thin curtains fluttered in the evening breeze.

“So me and the big guy, we bust into the house and find the husband tryna calm her down, but she’s clawin’ at her head and keeps yellin’, ‘Get it out! Get it out!’” Fusco imitated her. “Then she fuckin’ _shanks_ her husband with a broken wine bottle, and he goes down. I stop to help him while Reese tries to restrain the lady. But she just keeps slashing herself, and the next thing we know, she’s cut her own throat and is bleeding out on the floor. Dead not even a minute later.” Fusco shook his head. “It was brutal.”

“Husband still alive?” Shaw asked.

“For now. He’s at St. Mary’s.”

“We’ll take his statement when he wakes up then. And where’d Reese go?”

_“He’s with me, Ms. Shaw,”_ Finch said into her earpiece. _“We are examining CCTV footage at the moment for any suspicious activity around the house.”_

Shaw suspected that would be a dead-end, but she let it slide.

“Any idea what Jo meant when she said ‘Get it out’?” Fusco asked.

“Could’ve meant a lot of things,” said Root. “Anything from a brain tumour to negative thoughts from her online hate messages. Hell, she might’ve killed gouged herself because of drug-induced hallucinations or pain.”

Fusco regarded her warily, as though wondering whether Root herself had used such techniques to kill people. She ignored him.

“I’m thinking we won’t get any more answers ‘til we get a full autopsy on the stiff here,” Shaw said.

_“I’ve contacted our old acquaintance, Dr. Farouk Madani, to perform the autopsy,”_ said Finch.

“Jo was apparently checking her mentions on her article and Twitter account before she died,” Root added, as she perused the open tabs on Jo’s desktop. “I’ll sift through her social media accounts, see if I can find anyone who actually threatened her.”

Fusco looked more wan than Shaw had ever seen him. “Go home Fusco. You’ve done enough today. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Fusco shot her a grateful look. “Awright,” he said. “Awright.” Gingerly, he stepped around the body and left.

After a final sweep of the house, Root and Shaw followed suit.

“You, uh, need a ride?” Shaw asked. “To...wherever it is you’re staying?”

Root tried, but failed, to hide her wince at that. “I...it’s fine, Sameen. I’ll crash at the subway.”

Shaw stared hard at her. “Get in. But you’re sleeping on the couch. Got it?”

Root practically skipped into the passenger seat.

*

“You’re awfully quiet,” Shaw said as they drove home.

Root sighed. “I’m thinking what the rest of you are probably thinking. If the Machine wanted me here, there must be a lot more to this case than meets the eye. And what we saw with our eyes was bad enough.”

“Maybe we need to think about this as assassins. Not vigilantes,” Shaw said. “If you wanted Jo dead, how would you have done it?”

“Hmm.” Root gazed out the window. “I’d have set her house on fire and let her burn alive in it. Made it look like a suicide. Would’ve seemed like the most just punishment for her, given what she spouted about that woman who self-immolated.”

“Pretty Count of Monte Cristo-ish, if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” Root said softly. “I used to want to punish people. Still do sometimes.”

The chiaroscuro caused by the passing streetlights emphasized the grave expression on Root’s face.

“Hey. You’re Eeyoring again.”

That at least elicited a brief smile, but it soon evaporated. “This murder...it was pulled off _too_ well. She’s upset. I can feel it.”  

“Well, we always knew we weren’t going to be able to save everyone.”

No response.

“Listen Root,” Shaw said, focusing her attention on the road, “I don’t really get how the Machine works or why She’s such a cryptic asshole sometimes.”

“Seems like you’re vaguely alluding to me, but in front of me.”

“You’re _both_ annoyingly secretive, smug assholes,” Shaw growled. “My point is, we’re good at what we do, and we’ll figure this out. Okay? We’ll have more information to work with tomorrow. Just don’t brood; you remind me of Reese.”

Root scrunched her nose. “Take that back!”


	2. Chapter 2

**DAY 2**

Shaw found Root seated at the kitchen table, still clad in the makeshift pajamas she’d borrowed for the night. Her face was ashen, and purple shadows lined her eyes.

“Damn, did you even sleep at all?”

 “Hm?” Root glanced at Shaw distractedly. “’Morning Sam.” She pushed up her glasses, brushed aside a stray strand of hair that had slipped out of her messy bun, and peered intently at her laptop screen again, her fingers clacking away at the keyboard.

Shaw frowned. Since when did Root put work above the opportunity to flirt? She had to admit, she’d been expecting a lewd, “Hungry for breakfast, sweetie?” come-on as Root spread her long, bare legs.

God, Root really did have nice legs, and they felt so good wrapped around –

Shaw shoved the thought away before her mind flew straight into the gutter.

One hand on the back of Root’s chair, Shaw leaned over Root’s shoulder. Apparently, she was sifting through Jo’s mentions. “Find anything?”

“Possibly,” Root murmured. “But I want to keep digging to make sure I’m onto something first. While you’re there, could you massage my neck? Got a kink in it last night I think.”

“What, my couch not good enough for you?”

Root shifted in her seat, rubbing her own neck instead. The corner of her lip twitched in an amused demi-smile. “I appreciated your hospitality, Sameen,” she said quietly.

There was sincerity in Root’s words that Shaw didn’t know what to do with. “Yeah, well,” she deflected, “we’re overextending our stay here. Gotta get to work.”

Root’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, but she leapt up as soon as she caught a glimpse of the time on her laptop. “Fuck fuck fuck,” she cursed under her breath. She pushed past Shaw and rushed into the hallway, yanking off her T-shirt as she went.

“Keep the glasses on!” Shaw called after her.

*

“I told you already, I was in the neighbourhood on my _own_ time and heard screamin’. So I went into the house. A civilian came with me to see if he could help out too. Said he was ex-military.”

“And yet, you and this friend of yours failed to save the journalist.”

“Look Captain, I did what I could, then called for an ambulance and backup. Dunno what more I coulda done when the vic was thrashin’ around and convulsin’ like that.”

Captain Moreno opened her mouth to retort, but Shaw, striding towards Fusco’s desk with Root, beat her to it.

“Is there a problem here?” Shaw asked, her arms crossed. She’d been wary of almost every police officer in the precinct ever since the HR debacle. Felicia Moreno, however, had a work ethic and commitment to justice that Shaw respected, though they didn’t always see eye to eye.

“Not one that concerns you, Detective Grey.” Moreno stared at Shaw, pointedly ordering her to head to her own desk.

“Respectfully Captain,” Shaw said stiffly, “Detective Fusco is my partner and we’re working the Votsis case together, so I believe it _does_ concern me.”

Moreno pursed her lips. “Fair enough,” she conceded after a moment. “Then you both should know that I’m putting Detective Fusco on desk duty for the present time.”

“ _What_?! For what, not saving the lady?” Fusco exclaimed.

“No. For having to witness a woman slit her own throat in front of you. I imagine that was traumatic, whether your consciously aware of that or not.” Moreno handed him a card.

“You want me to see a shrink for this? You can’t be serious.”

“Those are my orders, Fusco.

“But the case –”

“Grey and – I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Fleming,” Root replied.

“Grey and Fleming can work the case from the field while you help out from here. Is that understood?”

Fusco sighed.

The captain nodded and walked back to her office.

“Ya try to help people, and this is the thanks ya get,” Fusco grumbled.

“That’s rough buddy,” said Shaw. “If it makes you feel better, I got kicked out of medical school for not being good enough at listening to people talk about their feelings.”

“You don’t wanna hear me bitchin’. Got it.”

“I don’t, but that’s not what I meant.” Shaw pulled up a chair and sat down. “Just that helping others can be a thankless fucking job, often because people have expectations on _how_ we should help.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Root was watching her curiously. But if there was a question on Root’s mind, she didn’t ask it.

“Remember how I was John’s psychiatrist for a little while Lionel?” Root grinned in fond reminiscence.

Fusco gaped at her, evidently remembering what she’d done afterwards. “...I’ll stick to the shrink on the card, thanks. But if I have to go through this, Wonder Boy should too. You can be _his_ shrink again.”

_“Not a chance, Lionel,”_ Reese said over the comms. _“I’ve seen way and done way worse than what happened to Jo.”_

Fusco scoffed and silently mimicked Reese. “Where ya at anyway?”

The elevator dinged at that moment, and Reese stepped out, carrying a tray of coffee and a box of doughnuts.

“Were you just waiting downstairs til the captain was gone?” Shaw asked, grabbing the treats out of his arms.

Reese wore a bemused expression. “Well, I had to avoid awkward questions. Couldn’t make it seem like I was too chummy with Lionel.”

“Fair enough,” Shaw said through a mouthful of chocolate-glazed doughnut.

Root took a sprinkled one and offered the box to Fusco.

“Aw, what the hell. Might as well embrace the stereotype,” Fusco said as he accepted a doughnut.

“Free breakfast – perks of having a barista as a friend,” Shaw quipped.

“This is the worst cover identity I’ve ever had,” Reese deadpanned.

Root looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Find anything in the CCTV footage?”

Reese shook his head. “About the most exciting thing that happened in that footage was an insect landing on the camera and partially obscuring it. Not surprised though.”

“Guess our next course of action will have to be checking on the husband, seeing if he’s up and talking.” Root took a hearty swig of her coffee. “Ah, I really needed that.”

“Husband seems like another dead end, to be honest.”

“Maybe so, but we’d better cover our bases,” said Shaw. “We don’t know anything about what Jo and her husband’s marriage was like. Stress must’ve been through the roof after Jo wrote her article.”

_“I believe I have some news on this front,”_ Finch said. “ _The hospital would be unlikely to share information about a patient over the phone, but I did manage to get a view of Mr. Votsis through his cell phone camera. He appears to be alert.”_

“Splendid! Thanks Harry.” Root winked at Reese and Fusco and added, “We’ll see you boys later.”

Shaw nodded curtly at them and accompanied Root to the elevator.

*

They found Votsis’ room in the specialized trauma ward of the hospital without incident. A nurse was already there, however, and tried to usher them out. Neither Root nor Shaw budged.

“Sorry, but you can't be in here,” the nurse said. “Only family members are allowed to visit right now.”

“We're detectives with the NYPD.” Shaw held up her badge. “We need to discuss last night's events with Mr. Votsis. Then we'll be off.”

The nurse hesitated and glanced at Votsis, who nodded. “Very well,” she sighed. “Don't give him too much trouble though.” She stepped out of the room and shut the door.

“Mr. Votsis -” Root began.

“Please, call me Bill.”

“Bill, thank you for agreeing to see us. I'm Ada Fleming and this is my partner, Sameen Grey.” Root pulled up a chair next to Bill's bed and sat down. “We’re terribly sorry about your wife. We can't imagine how you must be feeling.”

Bill's eyes welled with tears, but he blinked them back. Taking a steadying breath, he murmured, “I was upstairs, getting out of the shower, when I heard the screaming. I came down as fast as I could, but…” He shook his bowed head. “Have you ever watched a loved one die in front of you?”

“Yes,” Root and Shaw said in unison.

“Then maybe you do understand - the pain, the horrible fucking helplessness you feel.” He began to sob. “That's what hurt the most. I couldn't do anything. Neither could the other two men who came.”

Root and Shaw exchanged a look.

“Our colleague who you met last night, Detective Fusco, provided us with a detailed account of what happened,” Shaw said cautiously. “We don't, uh, want to make you relive all of that. But we were hoping you could help us with our investigation into your wife's de- er, untimely passing.”

“What's the point though?”

It was with significant effort that Shaw tamped down her exasperation.

“Are you familiar with the stages of grief, Bill?” Root asked. “Ultimately the goal is to move towards acceptance. Getting justice for a loved one can bring you closer to finding peace. Underneath all the grief you're feeling, isn't some part of you wondering how Jo passed away?”

Bill wiped away his tears. His lip trembled as he nodded.

“We're going to do everything we can to get to the bottom of this. But we need you to answer some questions. Okay?” Root said.

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Shaw produced a notepad and pen. “Do you mind if I not down some stuff while we talk?” He shook his head, and Shaw pressed on. “Could you tell us about your marriage with Jo?”

“We're - I mean, we were happily married for 12 years. Had the occasional argument like any couple, but we always made up afterwards.”

“A lot of people were really angry about the article Jo recently wrote. The one about the disabled martyr.”

“Oh believe me,” Bill said, his watery eyes now narrowing. “I noticed. We'd be going out for walks, and people would stop and give Jo nasty looks or fire insults at her. Switch on the news, and there'd be hot takes on whether or not Jo should be fired from her job. Made me so angry. But Jo always just laughed it off. Always kept her chin up. It's what I loved about her.”

“Okay,” Shaw interjected quickly. The last thing she wanted was for him to break down again. “Can you think of anyone who might've actually wanted to kill Jo? Anyone who threatened her?”

“Have you seen her Twitter mentions?”

“We have,” Root said. “We're looking into suspicious activity there too. Were there any in-person death threats though?”

Bill rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Not that I can think of off the bat. I mean, you'd assume the family of that girl - Leah Reilly - would've held the biggest grudge against Jo, but they never threatened her. Just said on the news that they wouldn't want Jo's piece to tarnish anyone's memories of Leah.”

“What about that cake that Jo received yesterday?”

As if having an epiphany, Bill attempted to sit up, but grimaced in pain and lay back down.“The cake! I told Jo not to eat it, but she insisted. I'll bet the cake had something in it!”

“We'll definitely have it inspected,” said Root. “Is there anything else you think we should know?”

He frowned for a moment, thinking. Finally, he shook his head. “That's all that comes to mind right now.”

“Alright.” Shaw handed him her card. “If you think of anything else, give us a shout.”

“Take care Bill,” Root said. “And thanks for your time.”

 

They were halfway down the hall when they heard Bill yell, “MY WIFE WAS MURDERED BY AN EVIL CAKE! THE CAKE IS A LIE!”

The nurse from before rushed towards his room, shooting Root and Shaw a scathing look as she went.

“When I said 'give us a shout’ I didn't mean it literally,” Shaw muttered darkly.

“So,” Shaw said later, once they settled into her car, “any thoughts?”

“I think we can rule out suicide,” Root answered. “Based on what the husband told us, it doesn't seem as though Jo was remorseful about her article. Not to the point of taking her life at least.”

“Would She even give us numbers for suicides?”

“As long as it's a premeditated threat, yeah. Even it's you posing a threat to yourself.”

“Wow.”

“My other thought,” Root continued, “is that Leah's family do have a strong motive like Bill said. I already looked into them though, and they all had alibis. They were upstate.”

“Any chance they hired someone?”

“Maybe, but I didn't find any evidence of suspicious conversations.”

“You hacked them? You know we're supposed to do things the legal way, right? With warrants and stuff?”

“Says the woman who's legally dead.”

Touché.

“What are your thoughts?” Root asked.

“One: the next time we have to interview a grieving widow, you're doing it yourself.”

Root looked scandalized.

“What? People have too many emotions for me. You seemed to handle the guy just fine,” Shaw said.

“Ugh, fine.”

“Two: are you finally going to tell me what you found on Jo's social feeds?”

“Well, no time like the present, I suppose.” Root pulled out her phone and tapped away at it until she had Jo's Twitter mentions on display. “See this hashtag?”

“#DeathTo?”

“Yeah. About a hundred people have used it, accompanied by Jo's name and a photo of her. “One of those people…” Root trailed off as she scrolled through the hashtag in search of something. “Ah, there.” She showed Shaw the phone again. “This woman, Karen Bahar? She used the hashtag too. Turns out she the one who ordered that cake for Jo.”

“You got a location on Ms. Bitch Cake?”

“Southpointe Academy. She's a preschool teacher there.”

“Not too far from here then.” Shaw turned on the engine. “Let's go have a little chat with her.”

*

“I think we made a wrong turn at the east wing,” Root said.

Shaw walked alongside her, sucking on a juice box she lifted from a random cart. She did a double-take as they passed each classroom, from the chemistry lab, to the computer room, to the bay of windows overlooking the grassy courtyard where a class of toddlers held their advanced yoga poses. “This is one pretentious-ass school,” Shaw remarked. “What do they need a lab here for anyway? Kids should not be allowed to do chemistry.”

Root chuckled. “Is this about the time Gen nearly blew your eyebrows off?”

“Little brat is entirely too curious for her own good,” Shaw grumbled.

“Well I, for one, think it’s sweet you have such a soft spot for children,” Root teased. “You’ve got a real maternal instinct to you. I think you’ll fit right in here.”

Shaw punched Root’s arm. “I am _not_ maternal,” she declared heatedly.

Root cocked her head. “Sure Sam.”

“Hmph!” Shaw stomped ahead,  obnoxiously slurping the last drops of apple juice. Root caught up with her easily, grinning at the grumpy toddler-like expression that was undoubtedly on Shaw’s face. Shaw ignored her. “God, even the juice here is pretentious,” Shaw said, chucking her empty carton into a recycling bin.

They found their destination just as the period bell rang. A series of gentle wind chimes echoed from the loud speakers and children begin milling into the hallway single file. One who thought he was speed racer bumped into Shaw as he bolted from the room.

“No running.” She scowled at him, but the rambunctious tot paid her no mind.

“I think you just scolded a future congressman, Sameen.”

“That knuckle-deep nose picker?” Shaw laughed. “Future commander-in-chief, more like.”

Inside, they spotted the teacher, busily gathering craft supplies and loose construction paper from the little desks. Root whispered as they approached, “ _Not it_ ,” and Shaw regarded her quizzically until she realized what exactly Root was opting out of - conducting the interview.

“ _Goddamnit,_ ” she mumbled under her breath, before putting on her game face. “Karen Bahar?”

The woman turned and flashed a bright smile. “Oh! You must be Jayden's mothers. I'm sorry, I thought the parent-teacher conference wasn't for another half hour.”

Root burst into a fit of giggles.

Karen stared at her in confusion.

Shaw rolled her eyes and lifted the end of her jacket, revealing the shiny badge clipped to her belt, ostentatiously placed next to her pistol. “Detective Grey. This is Detective Fleming -”

“Her partner in homicide,” Root added, still bubbling with mirth.

“Yes, thank you.” Shaw threw Root a quick, sour look before returning to Karen. “We'd like to ask you a few questions.”

“Regarding?”

“A homicide.” Duh.

“Oh.” Karen’s cheery disposition evaporated in an instant, shoulders slumping. “I saw it on the news this morning. I know why you're here, but I swear, I had nothing to do with that-”

“‘Fucking bitch's’ murder?” Shaw interrupted. “Well, that's still up for debate, Karen.”

“But it was just a cake!” she protested.

“It was a _Château Dough_ cake. Must have set you back a bit. Can’t imagine you make a ton on a teacher’s salary.”

Shaw's eyes flitted just over Karen's shoulder. Root had slipped away moments ago and begun meandering about the room. Now, she was hanging around the teacher's desk, admiring the hand crafted clutter of paper cranes and melted clay figurines, and the cell phone sticking out of a handbag. Bluejacking it, no doubt.

“We all put in a dollar each,” Karen told her.

“‘We?’”

Karen squirmed uncomfortably. “Yeah. Bunch of us on a PTA message board.”

Root perked at that. “You crowdsourced the money?” she called out.

Karen shrugged weakly. “Yes, I suppose...”

“The bill was on your credit card, though,” Shaw pointed out. “Either that makes you the leader of the lynch mob, or the unlucky scapegoat. So which is it, Karen?”

“I...” Karen dithered for moment. “I know she's dead, but did you read what she wrote? How much do you think she got paid for spouting that horrible shit?”

Shaw shrugged. “I don’t know, Karen. That’s not what’s important here. Though if you _do_ want to talk about Jo’s pay, it’s also worth noting that plenty of people signed a petition to have her fired. Maybe that’s a _productive_ course of action you could’ve taken instead.”

“Look. I was just exercising my freedom of speech,” Karen said. “Same as her.”

“Yeah, to send a threatening message written in frosting. Wouldn’t you put these tottering little monsters in timeout if they said something bad? I mean, practise what you preach, teach.””

Karen turned to Root, as though imploring her to intervene. “Your partner is a real professional.”

Shaw found it laughable that Karen thought Root was the good cop in this scenario.

“Oh, don't mind her. She's on a no-sugar cleanse. All this cake talk's just making her antsy,” Root said, stepping back into the conversation. “Let's change the topic, shall we?” She took out her phone and showed Karen her own tweet. “You publicly wished death upon Jo Votsis.”

“No...no, I never meant it like that. It was just a hashtag game.”

“A game?” Root gave it a second glance. “What fun.”

“Yeah. Like death to... insert the name of someone who’s being an asshole. It's not... real. It's a joke thing.”

“Who started it?” Root asked.

“I don't know, I saw it somewhere.” Karen said.

“When?”

“About a week ago, I think. I don't really know for certain.” Karen looked as if she might start crying. “Are you going to arrest me?”

Root opened her mouth to respond, but her phone began to buzz. “Would you excuse us?” she said, corralling Shaw aside.

“Harold?” Shaw asked.

“No, the lab...” Root replied, skimming over the message. “Toxicology report. Cake turned out clean. They also said it was delicious.”

Shaw snorted.

“Well, guess we officially have to rule her out as a suspect.”

“Too bad. I was starting to have fun with her,” Shaw said.

“We could still give her a warning on the grounds of New York State penal law 201.30?” Root suggested.

Shaw stared at her blankly. “And I'm supposed to know what that means, how?”

“Didn't you study the research material I provided in your cover ID packet?” Root sighed. “Aggravated harassment, Sameen. You asked me to start following and upholding the law, so I brushed up on the way here.”

Of course she had.

“Does this fancy schmancy law of yours cover cakes?”

“I don't see why not. Call it a consolation prize.”

“Sounds like extra paperwork.” Shaw grinned wickedly. “Not it.”

“But then my fingers will cramp and I won’t be able to -”

“Don’t even think about finishing that thought.”

“What about all the other people who contributed to the cake? Are you going to tell them off too?” Karen asked sourly as she accompanied them outside.

Root and Shaw ignored her.

“I didn’t _do_ anything!” Karen cried.

“Start a thread about it, Karen,” Shaw said.

*

Fusco barely spared them a glance when they walked back into the precinct. Root sat down with a dramatic sigh and mournfully began to document the work they’d just done.

“What, no arrests yet?” Fusco ribbed.

Shaw grunted. “Leads from today didn’t pan out.”

“Aw well, it happens. You’ll get used to not closing cases.”

“Shut up, Detective Desk Duty,” Shaw snapped.

Fusco laughed.

_“Ms. Groves, Ms. Shaw?”_ Finch said suddenly.

“Finch,” Shaw acknowledged. “Tell us you have some new leads for us.”

_“I believe I do indeed. My initial search into this #DeathTo has revealed that this was begun by a number of bot accounts last Sunday. I will have to probe further, but I will keep you apprised,”_ Finch said. _“In other news, Dr. Madani just reached out to me. He has completed the autopsy. You may meet him at the City Morgue.”_

“He can’t just tell us what the COD is over the phone?” Root asked incredulously.

_“He said he wished to deliver his report in person. Apparently, there is something he thinks you need to see.”_

“If he insists,” Root said. “Smell ya later, Harry.”

*

“Good evening,” Dr. Madani greeted them. “You must be Harold’s associates.”

“Yep,” Shaw said. “We’re here about Jo Votsis.”

“Right. Come in.”

Root and Shaw followed Dr. Madani into autopsy room 4. Jo’s body lay on a slab, mostly covered by a white sheet.

“So I started doing the autopsy and found that there wasn’t just the wound from the glass here on her neck. There was a hole.” He put on his surgical gloves, gently turned Jo’s head to the side, and pointed at her ear. “It looked like something dug a tiny tunnel through her ear canal. So I checked to see how far it went.” A pause. “It went deep into her brain, right to the _dorsal posterior insula_.”

Shaw whistled. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

Madani nodded sagely. “Yes.”

“It’s basically the pain centre of the brain,” Shaw explained, noticing Root’s puzzled expression. “So if there was something impacting that region, Jo would’ve felt unbelievable agony.”

“Enough to slit her own throat?”

“Absolutely,” said Madani. “And that’s not all. What I found buried in her brain was this.” Sitting in a Petri dish was a silver, metallic bee. “It looked quite cozy in there, too.”

“An ADI,” Root breathed. “Autonomous Drone Insect, from the Granular Project.”

“I saw something about it on the news the other day. Didn’t think it would bite me in the ass like this,” Shaw said. She put the lid back on the Petri dish. “We’ll need to take this as evidence.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks Doc. We’ll take our leave then.”

Root switched on her earpiece as she and Shaw exited the morgue. “Harry? Are you there?”

_“Always, Ms. Groves.”_

“We just finished chatting with the good doctor. It turns out an ADI nestled in Jo’s brain led to her demise. You wouldn’t mind researching the Granular Project, would you?”

_“Not at all.”_

“As soon as possible, please. Sameen and I plan on paying them a visit tomorrow morning.”

If Shaw had been anyone else, the malicious glint in Root’s eyes would have made her skin crawl. Root bore the feral smile of an avenging angel.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who participated in #shootweek19 and took the time to read/comment on this fic :)


End file.
